


Vibrations

by firemaiden04



Series: Sweet Sensations [1]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, I mean ffs thinking about Vegeta keeps me awake at night, I'm 33 and married I should be ashamed of myself, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Smut, Sneaking, Spying, Swearing, Vegebul, Vegeta being Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Yamcha is a cheating prick, be like Bulma and take care of your skin, dirty talking, like a lot of swearing, this was going to be a one-shot but not anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23540524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firemaiden04/pseuds/firemaiden04
Summary: Bulma's mother brings a package containing Bulma's new sex toy to Vegeta's room by mistake.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Series: Sweet Sensations [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724395
Comments: 53
Kudos: 245





	1. Vegeta

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello, everyone! First DBZ fic I've ever written, and I'm rather ashamed to admit that this was about 80% done like two years ago. I couldn't seem to find the right words to end it and even though I would think about it literally every night when I was trying to go to sleep, I just never managed to get it finished. Well, with everything going on with Covid-19, I'm going to be stuck in this house for awhile, so I just set my mind to it and sat down at my computer about an hour and a half ago and cranked it out. 
> 
> I was indecisive about doing a second part to it, but the responses have been so overwhelmingly positive, I'm working on Chapter Two as we speak!

Vegeta stared, uncomprehending, at the vibrator that lay innocuously on his bed, neatly secured in a clear plastic package. He’d come back to his room from training and Bulma’s mother had left a small stack of boxes just inside his door, all delivered by the post that day. He’d expected they contained the various supplements he’d ordered online; they had, all except the last one he’d ripped open. That one had contained a pink silicone vibrator. Vibrator? Maybe it was a dildo. It was certainly phallic-shaped. But it had buttons on it too. Vibrating dildo. 

Baffled, Vegeta looked down at the floor, where the remnants of all the boxes he’d unwrapped lay in a careless pile. He didn’t understand. The dildo—the vibrating dildo—had come packed in the same type of inconspicuous, unmarked cardboard box that his supplements had arrived in. Had there been a mistake? Had they accidentally sent him a vibrating dildo instead of supplements or protein powder? But what kind of fucking supplement company also dabbled in sex toys? No fucking way. 

More likely someone had sent him the toy as a prank. A succinct way of telling him to go fuck himself. His jaw tightened and he growled at the thought of those fucking _imbeciles_ chortling at his expense. Ha ha, fuck Vegeta! How funny, to mock the displaced prince who lost his planet and his people; the last Saiyan with the exception of that annoyingly cheerful Kakarot, to whom everything seemed to come so easy: becoming a Super Saiyan, for one, and he was _married,_ for fuck’s sake, even if his wife was overbearing beyond belief—and he had a son with no small amount of power! How amusing, to send _Prince Vegeta_ a fucking dildo in the mail! He wondered who had done it. Piccolo? Kakarot? Doubtful. But still probably a Z-Fighter. Tien, or Krillin, or that fucking Yamcha. Well, he would find out who was responsible. Maybe there was a clue—it had to have been bought online, so maybe there was information on the packing slip.

He bent down and rifled through the boxes on the floor until he found the one that had contained the dildo. Vibrating dildo. He finally unearthed the correct box, ripped it apart, and behold! A packing slip was indeed inside. Triumphantly, he pulled it out, and looked at the purchaser information.

Bulma Briefs.

Vegeta had expected rage. What he _hadn’t_ expected was the hurt that suddenly saturated his entire body. An icy cold sensation went down his spine. His chest clenched painfully. His stomach dropped. Bulma? It was _Bulma_? Bulma, who fussed over him, who teased him and called him _cute_ , who never seemed bothered by his surliness, who never failed to put anyone in their place whenever they snapped at her—Vegeta included? 

Vegeta sat slowly on the bed, staring sightlessly ahead. Why was this bothering him so much? Maybe because he’d never really thought she was _that_ type of person? He pictured her with Yamcha, laughing evilly, recounting her little prank. He felt sick. And his response, his fucking _injured feelings_ , just made him angrier. He felt like he could go Super Saiyan right now, simply from the rage that a fucking _earthling_ could hurt him like this. 

He looked back down at the packing slip. Yes, it was there, clear as day, he hadn’t imagined it. _Bulma Briefs_. He shook his head helplessly, still somewhat in denial. It just showed that…

But Vegeta’s name wasn’t on the packing slip. 

He reached down and snatched the shredded remains of the box. There, on the address label. _Not_ Vegeta. It was, in fact, addressed to Bulma Briefs.

Oh. _Oh._

His palms began to sweat as he looked around, panicked. The rage had dissipated as quickly as it had come on, to be replaced by a helpless sort of horror. It was suddenly very clear what had happened. Bulma’s mother had brought all the packages to his room—she must have included Bulma’s by mistake. Which meant he had just opened—not just opened, _demolished_ —a package containing the sex toy Bulma had bought for herself. The toy she’d bought to _use_ on herself. 

What the fuck was he going to do now? Go knock on Bulma’s door and be like, “Hey, your mom brought me your vibrating dildo by mistake”? He shuddered at the thought. He didn’t know who would be more embarrassed in that situation, himself or Bulma. _Would_ she be embarrassed, though? Or would she just giggle and be like, “Thanks, I’ve been waiting for that!” and close her door in his face…and maybe try it out…

His face was still red, but for another reason entirely. 

What the _fuck_ was going on with him? He’d gone from feeling crushed, to pure panic, to arousal that enveloped him so quickly he was lightheaded.

For Vegeta, sex was a need that, whenever it arose, he addressed with a sort of exasperated impatience, as though it was something below him and he just wanted to take care of it— _scratch the itch_ , so to speak—as quickly as possible. Was he _good_ at it? He supposed so, though he’d honestly never thought about it much. It didn’t much matter to him whether his partner enjoyed herself as much as he did, since for him, sex wasn’t much about _enjoyment_. His stamina was certainly superb—after all, he took pride in being the strongest, the most powerful. But admittedly, he’d never paid much attention to his technique, or spent much time attempting to fine-tune it. Perhaps, if any of the others had ever challenged him— _“I bet I’m better in bed than you are, Vegeta!” “I bet I can make a woman come more times than you can!”_ —he would have thrown himself head-first into it, as he did any time he was challenged, because he had to be the best no matter what. But no one had ever challenged him to anything of the sort. In fact, the other fighters had never even brought up sex to him. Sometimes he’d walk into a room when some of them were talking about sex, but as soon as they noticed him, the conversation usually veered off in another direction, or stopped altogether.

Vegeta stared back down at the dildo. Vibrating dildo. Unable to help himself, he quickly evaluated its dimensions. It was thick—no delicate little toy for Bulma. Did she _like_ thick? Because as thick as the toy was—and as long—it wouldn’t quite measure up to Vegeta. He had at least two inches on the toy when it came to length, and as far as _girth_ was concerned, he was substantially fatter. 

Was Yamcha maybe… _not_ so well-endowed?

Vegeta smirked despite himself. How fitting, that the weak Yamcha would sport such a mediocre member!

But then, it occurred to Vegeta that Yamcha hadn’t actually been coming around the Capsule Corp compound recently. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen Yamcha and Bulma together, and it had been a few months at least. Was Yamcha, perhaps, not being attentive to Bulma’s needs? 

Vegeta’s smirk widened. How fitting, that the cowardly Yamcha couldn’t cut it in the bedroom! 

Images began flashing through Vegeta’s mind despite himself—images of Bulma _using_ the toy on herself. His jaw tensed. This was ridiculous. He had better things to do than daydream about Bulma Briefs masturbating with a dildo (vibrating dildo). The warning brought by the boy was of primary concern; it provided the ultimate opportunity to show that he was the most powerful being in the Universe. He needed to devote _all_ of his energy, physical _and_ mental, on training for the fight against the androids. With a scoff, Vegeta carelessly tossed the toy in its plastic case on the other side of his bed and forgot about it.

Well, not quite.

The vibrating dildo stayed on his mind for days. Whenever he was in his room, he was hyper-aware of its existence. He would even check on the side of his bed whenever he entered the room, just to make sure it was still there. 

But even worse, he became hyper-aware of _Bulma_ , too.

Whenever he was training in the gravity chamber and she was nearby (he always knew where she was, as he’d inexplicably began monitoring her ki in the back of his mind), he found himself pushing himself harder, or performing flashier moves— _showing off_ , for fuck’s sake—on the off chance she would glance through the windows and see him. And whenever she came around when he wasn’t training—during meals, for instance—he found himself watching her closely, observing her interactions with her family, or any Z-Fighters that had dropped by. 

And when he was lying in bed at night, he remembered waking up after the…incident…in the gravity chamber, when she’d fallen asleep at the desk beside his bed. He remembered the feeling that had come over him, realizing that she had nursed him when he was injured, that someone could display tenderness instead of contempt for his momentary weakness that had almost killed him. He remembered lying there in bed and staring at her peaceful face as she slept, her head cradled in her arms, blue hair cascading in loose curls down her back and over her shoulders, and feeling unfamiliar emotions rising in him that he’d quickly and ruthlessly quelled. But they were rising again.

And also, he’d been masturbating more than once a day, thinking about Bulma using that toy on herself. This was unprecedented territory for Vegeta, who had never been one of those people that felt the _need_ for sexual release terribly often. 

He needed to get this sex toy _out of his room_. Maybe then, everything would be back to normal.

For some reason (it wouldn’t occur to Vegeta until much, much later that it had even been an option) it never occurred to him to just toss the toy in the trash. Instead, he was determined to get it to Bulma in as unsuspicious a way as possible. He needed to get it packed up in a box again, looking like it had never been opened. Of course, it didn’t help that he had demolished the package it originally arrived in. He’d kept the remnants of the box, tossed on the other side of his bed alongside the toy. He examined that box, looked at the shipping label that had come through (miraculously) unscathed. He needed to somehow remove that label—covered by clear packing tape, as it was—and get it on another box…seal it up…and deliver it to Bulma’s room unnoticed. 

It occurred to him to put it in one of the boxes his supplements had arrived in; a few of them remained in decent shape, and he’d kept the empty boxes in his room, just in case. They were even the perfect size. The only thing that gave him pause was that if he attached Bulma’s shipping label to the box, it would be covering up the label with his own name, and even if it was incredibly unlikely, there was still a chance that somehow, Bulma would see the shipping label with his name underneath the other one, and then the game was up. Even the thought of being discovered made a cold shiver go down Vegeta’s spine. No, he needed to remove one of the labels with his name, attach the label with _her_ name, and then seal the box with enough clear packing tape to cover up any evidence of the labels being messed with. 

For anyone else, this would have been a relatively simple job, but Vegeta wasn’t exactly good with these delicate, precise things. What would he need? Packing tape, definitely. A knife that could cut the labels off…he’d seen Bulma using one once. What had she called it? Something with an “x” in it. He would need to scout around the compound and pilfer what he needed. Of course, he could just fucking ask someone, but he dreaded any questions. He’d take what he needed, do the job, and then return the tools to where he’d found them, drop the box off at Bulma’s room, and that would be the end of it.

Bulma swung the door open when he knocked. She looked so fresh and so pretty, her skin so smooth, her cheeks pink, her eyes sparkling, standing there in a short— _very_ short—robe, and a surprised look on her face when she saw him. “Vegeta? What is it?”

“Ithinkthisbelongstoyou.”

“Um…sorry?”

Vegeta took a breath and scowled. This was unacceptable. “I think this belongs to you.” He held the box out towards her. 

Bulma looked down, surprised. “Oh! Yes, it does. Thank you.”

He turned to leave and was a few steps away when she said, “…wait a minute.”

He turned back around and was absolutely horrified to see that the box he had taken such care with now looked exactly like the original box he’d destroyed. It hung in shambles in her hands, and the case with the toy was exposed. What the fuck had happened?! Had he brought the wrong box??!

She dropped the cardboard and lifted the toy in her hand. She looked at him and laughed. “Yamcha, come here!” she called, and to Vegeta’s horror, that fucking _meathead_ came walking up behind Bulma—shirtless, no less—and slung an arm around her waist.

“What’s up, babe?” he drawled, and his eyebrows rose when he saw what Bulma was holding.

Bulma was still laughing. “Vegeta opened my sex toy! He got it four days ago, and he’s been keeping it in his room…and then he tried to make it look like he’d never opened it!” Her laugh was so high and pure and joyful and it sent barbs through Vegeta’s very soul.

Yamcha was laughing now too, almost doubled over with his mirth. “What…a…fucking…loser!” he gasped between his guffaws.

Vegeta felt icy cold as he backed away, but they didn’t go away.

“What an idiot!”

“He’s so stupid!”

“What a _loser_!”

Their laughter and taunts rang in his ears as, to his shame, he turned to run.

Vegeta shot upright in his bed, panting, covered in cold sweat—as though he’d been dreaming of Frieza destroying his entire planet, or falling to the androids the boy had warned them about—not bringing Bulma a fucking _package_.

He looked over to where the box sat, shipping label in place, neatly taped up and ready to go. He’d attended to the project with an intensity he usually reserved for his training, and he’d examined it critically, finally coming to the conclusion that nobody would ever be able to tell it had been tampered with. He’d even remembered to enclose the packing slip with the toy. Seeing the box sitting there, _perfect_ , reassured him; the sight of the mangled remains of the original package in Bulma’s hands was still fresh in his mind, but that had been a dream. Just a dream. 

A fucking nightmare.

He flopped back down onto his back and flung an arm over his face. This was getting fucking ridiculous. The entire incident had thrown his whole world into disarray: the obsessing about the toy’s presence, the monitoring of Bulma’s ki, the showing off, the near _constant_ arousal at the thought of her masturbating, and the effort he’d put into putting that package together. He just needed to get that toy _out of his room_. He’d give it to Bulma, and she’d never know, and he could get back to normal.

But as he lay there, tossing back and forth, unable to go back to sleep, he had to wonder…would he ever be able to think about Bulma the same way again?

The next day he threw himself into his training with even more intensity than usual, trying to put the whole thing out of his mind. Sweat literally _poured_ off of him as he worked, leaving so many puddles around the gravity chamber he had to take an unwanted break and let a cleaning bot in to mop up. He pushed himself to the absolute limit until almost twilight, when he finally succumbed to his exhaustion and left the chamber. He intended to go to his room and shower before wandering down to the kitchen to forage, and he took flight, heading towards the balcony outside his room. His flight path took him past Bulma’s balcony (what a coincidence!) and he had the luck—or the misfortune, depending on how you looked at it—of discovering that Bulma was actually on her balcony, reclining on a chaise. She had something all over her face and these weird green things on her eyes, so she didn’t see him. He hovered, debating what he should do, but his genuine curiosity won out.

“Woman, _what_ is that on your face?”

Bulma yelped and jumped about a foot in the air. Peeling the green things off of her eyes, she glared at him. “Dammit, Vegeta, don’t sneak up on people like that!”

Vegeta snickered. “It’s not my fault you aren’t aware of your surroundings.”

Bulma looked down at the green things, scowling. “I was trying to relax.”

Vegeta hesitated, then slowly landed on her balcony and leaned back against the railing, arms crossed. “What does relaxing have to do with that stuff on your face?”

Bulma rolled her eyes. “It’s a facial mask, Vegeta,” she said, as though it should be obvious. “I may be a beautiful woman _now_ , but I’d also like to be one in thirty years, and I won’t be unless I take care of my skin.” 

Vegeta had to admit that he’d always secretly admired Bulma’s confidence. He detested false modesty, and _modesty_ was not something anyone would ever accuse Bulma of having. She was brilliant, and she knew it—she was beautiful, and she knew it—and she didn’t see the point of pretending she _didn’t_ know.

Bulma was looking down at the floppy green discs, and then she sighed and flicked them, one by one, over the balcony railing. “And the cucumbers were to get rid of the puffiness around my eyes. It’s been a long day.”

Vegeta frowned. Now that she mentioned it, he could look closely and see that she did, in fact, seem a little tired. How could he have missed that? It figured, that the day he made an effort to _not_ monitor her was the day she probably _needed_ the monitoring. Inexplicably, he found himself getting frustrated with her. Silly weak earthling woman—she should take better care of herself! 

“You should know your limitations, woman,” he growled.

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Easy for you to say. Anyways, it’s not me so much as… _other_ people.”

Vegeta could understand that. “Idiots are everywhere,” he conceded.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Bulma groused. “Half of the idiots on this planet were apparently at Capsule Corp today.”

Vegeta straightened up and strode over to sit heavily down on the chaise next to Bulma’s, surprising both of them. Bulma gazed at him with wide eyes, then turned her face away, surreptitiously patting the dark grey mud that covered her skin. Vegeta imagined that underneath the mask, a blush suffused her cheeks.

He couldn’t deny that he enjoyed having the upper hand, and it put him in such a good mood that he didn’t bite back his curiosity. “What were the idiots doing?”

Bulma didn’t need to be convinced to respond. Before long, she had launched into a diatribe about the group of potential clients that had visited Capsule Corp that day, and the sexist comments they’d tossed at her throughout the visit. Vegeta was surprised to discover that he didn’t mind listening to her rant; it took his mind off other things and he found himself relaxing back into the chaise, offering an occasional supportive, “tch,” while he looked up at the sky as it went from dusk to dark. 

“And _then_ when they were leaving, that asshole turned back around and _winked_ at me, and said he looked forward to our ‘budding relationship,’ like I _hadn’t_ just told him I wasn’t interested in taking the contract. Just in one ear and out the other—I bet he hadn’t paid attention to a word I said all day. Bet he would’ve picked up a couple of things if he’d managed to take his eyes off my boobs or my ass for five seconds. Ugh!” Bulma threw her hands up.

Vegeta slid his eyes over to her. “Want me to go pay him a visit? I could throw him in the gravity chamber and turn it up to 200. He’d be a pancake.”

Bulma laughed heartily. 

“Why don’t you get that _boyfriend_ of yours to take care of you?” Then he grimaced. He hadn’t meant to say that; it had just slipped out.

Bulma looked over at him, surprised. “Yamcha? We broke up months ago.”

“Ah.” Vegeta wasn’t sure what else to say, and just spent a moment pondering how he felt about this news. He was a little surprised at how pleased he was, and he wasn’t quite certain where that pleasure was coming from. Of course, Yamcha was a weakling, completely useless, hardly worthy of a mate at all, much less a woman like Bulma. “Why?”

Bulma gave a jerky shrug and looked away. “He cheated,” she said flatly.

Vegeta laughed triumphantly. “Of course he did! A weakling like him could never succeed at anything without breaking the rules. _Tch_. No honor, no pride in anything. What did he cheat at?”

He suddenly noticed that Bulma was staring at him, appalled. “He cheated on _me,_ you jerk!”

Vegeta’s brow furrowed, and for a moment he didn’t understand. “How can you cheat on a…” and then he realized what she meant, and the horror that crossed his features temporarily mollified Bulma. “He…do you mean he was _unfaithful?!_ ”

Bulma scowled. “Yes, that’s what _cheating_ means, Vegeta.”

Vegeta was aghast. “But…you were his mate!”

Bulma shrugged. “I guess you can call it that. He was my boyfriend.” 

Vegeta was staring at her with an expression she’d never seen on his face before. “On my planet,” he said solemnly, “unfaithfulness to a mate was a very grave offense. The offender would be shunned by society for losing his honor.”

Bulma squirmed a bit under Vegeta’s unfaltering gaze. “Don’t feel sorry for me,” she snapped. 

Vegeta nodded approvingly. “Women on my planet were the same. They did not look for pity. Only vengeance. Their friends and family would help them enact it.”

Bulma snorted. “Vengeance? He’s not worth any more effort from me or any of my friends.”

“No, but you’re worth it.”

They both froze. Vegeta was mortified that it had slipped out without thinking—although it was true. 

Bulma bit her lip. “Thanks, Vegeta,” she whispered. Then she stood up. “I’m going to go wash this off. I’ll be right back. Want a water?”

Vegeta shrugged. “Sure. I’ll go shower.” He stood up, took off from her balcony, and was in his bathroom with his clothes stripped off before Bulma had even had time to go inside. 

He took the quickest shower of his life and was getting dressed when his eyes landed on the box in the corner of his room. His mouth twitched. _It’s now or never._

He grabbed the box before he could second-guess himself and flew back to Bulma’s balcony. She was just coming back outside, hair a little bit neater and face freshly cleaned and glowing—probably from that mask, not from him, he told himself. 

“Wow, Vegeta, that was quick!” she beamed, and held a water bottle out for him.

He hesitated for just a split second, then thrust the box out towards her. “This is yours. It was in my room with some stuff I ordered. Your mother must have put it there by mistake.” He was deliberate with his speech, ensuring that his words weren’t too rushed. 

“Aw, thanks,” she said, taking the box from him casually. He accepted the water bottle she’d offered and managed to take the cap off and start chugging before she had a chance to look at the package. At first, she seemed nonchalant, like she didn’t know what was in the box. “ _Please, for fuck’s sake, don’t open it in front of me!”_ he thought desperately. Then he saw the color in her face rise as she bit her lip and glanced at him before turning around and throwing a nervous laugh over her shoulder. “Haha, thanks, Vegeta, I’m just going to put this in my room now, I’ll see you later!” He watched her quickly retreating form with an enormous sense of relief. 

It was over.

…And yet, two hours later, Vegeta was still thinking about it. He stared up at his bedroom ceiling, hands clasped behind his head, unable to sleep. His mind kept going over and over the conversation he’d had with Bulma. She was no longer mated to Yamcha, and Vegeta had to continuously quell a slow-burning rage every time he thought about such a worthless coward being _unfaithful_ to a woman like Bulma…but this also meant that Bulma was now available for a _new_ mate. Vegeta had not yet come to the decision that he wanted to pursue her, exactly, but his mind kept stubbornly returning to her newly single status. This, mingled with frequent images in his head of Bulma using the vibrating dildo on herself, was leaving him restless and uncomfortable. He’d tossed and turned for hours, unable to clear his mind and find rest. His frustration mounted until he scowled and shoved the covers back. If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well do something productive and train. 

He took off and was flying over the compound towards the gravity chamber when he heard it. It was some sort of soft noise, too quiet for any human ears to pick up from such a distance, low to medium frequency and constant, like a vibration of sorts, and it wasn’t like anything he’d ever heard on the planet. His first thought was _The Androids_ , and his power level started rising automatically before he had to remind himself that it was much, much too soon for that. The boy had said three years. He hovered over the compound, uncertain. Then the frequency changed and went a bit higher, and Vegeta decided he had to investigate. He dove towards the buildings and started inspecting the perimeter. 

The closer he got to Bulma’s room, the more evident the noise became, and his brow furrowed. Was the woman working on some sort of project? She sometimes worked odd hours, but never in her bedroom. He hovered above her balcony and ascertained that this was, indeed, the source of the noise. He landed lightly and walked towards her open balcony doors. The noise was getting louder.

About a split second before he peeked through her doors, he knew what he was going to see. Truthfully, as he would admit to himself much later, he had known all along, deep down in his subconscious, but his mind had skittered around its likelihood, beckoning him to investigate and discover it for himself.

Her large bedroom was dimly lit by a lamp on her nightstand. Her massive bed was placed with the headboard against the wall to the left, leaving Vegeta with a view of the length of her body—a body which was, from the collarbone down, hidden beneath dark charcoal sheets and a fluffy white comforter. Both her arms were tucked beneath the covers, and one knee was bent. Her pale skin provided a stark contrast against the dark sheets, and her hair was strewn about the pillow beneath. 

She was masturbating.

As Vegeta stood in the shadows, the noise changed to a higher frequency, and a low huff of air escaped from Bulma’s mouth. She shifted restlessly under the covers, and they slipped down just a bit, exposing barely another inch of skin on her chest, but it was enough to make Vegeta gulp. There was slow movement under the comforter, right where the apex of her legs would be—right where she was moving the _vibrating dildo_ against herself, back and forth. Vegeta couldn’t have moved from his spot if he’d wanted to; it was like he was turned to stone.

Then the noise changed, almost as though it was muted by something, and Bulma bit her lip and exhaled sharply from her nose. Vegeta quickly realized why the noise had changed—it was muted because it was coming from _inside her_ now, and Vegeta had never been harder in his life. He watched, mesmerized, as Bulma’s movements, which had been so indolent before, changed into something a little more urgent—a jerk of one of her legs beneath the covers, a twitch of her mouth, a quick twist of her head towards the open balcony, which horrified Vegeta for the two seconds it took for him to register that her eyes were closed, before her head turned back, and she opened her eyes to look sightlessly up at the ceiling. 

The frequency changed again, something higher now, though still muted, and now Bulma moaned. It was a heady, heated thing that shot right through Vegeta, running down his spine and settling low until his cock was literally throbbing inside his shorts. He would have reached down and grabbed himself if not for the fact that he was basically paralyzed from fear of discovery. And then something else—there was a _smell,_ just a hint but getting stronger by the second; the rich, heady, delicious scent of arousal. _Bulma’s_ arousal. He could literally smell how wet she was, and it made him shake to think of how she would taste.

Bulma was making lots of noises now, little keening sounds, and shifting differently under the covers. Vegeta noticed that she wasn’t thrusting the vibrating dildo inside her, which is what he probably would have expected; no, she seemed to be holding it still inside herself. Vegeta remembered the shape of it—curved, with a little thing, like mini rabbit ears, protruding at the top near the controls. He imagined where she was holding it under the covers—the bulbous curve held deep, pressing against that soft spot inside her; the little protrusion at the top held _just so_ on her clit, almost pinching it on either side. No, Bulma wasn’t thrusting it—she was _riding_ it, holding it inside her but rotating her hips, pressing herself against it rhythmically, letting the vibration do the work. Vegeta swallowed, mouth dry.

Then the noise changed again—the frequency was the same, but was now coming in bursts, two short ones and then a long one, and Bulma was losing her mind.

“Ah, fuck,” she gasped, and she was writhing now, and the covers slipped down, exposing one breast, nipple tight, creamy flesh bouncing just slightly with her movements—and she was moving more now, both knees bent under the covers, hips churning shamelessly.

“O-oh Kami,” she cried out, and her color changed—it was like pink blotches, rising on her cheeks, her neck, her chest. She wasn’t quiet anymore. “Oh Kami, _fuck_ , y-yes— _ah—_ fuck, _Vege—_ ”

And then she clapped one hand over her mouth and arched off the bed, coming _hard_ around the vibrating dildo, and she was _screaming_ into her hand, legitimately wailing—and it was _his fucking name_ she was screaming into her palm, her whole body jerking helplessly with her release. Vegeta could see tears rolling down her cheeks as she rode out her orgasm, and it seemed to last forever. The movements slowed, but the noise continued, and Bulma’s body continued to jerk sporadically as she chased the rest of her pleasure. She slipped her hand off her mouth, no longer screaming, but still making _noises_ —little keening sounds, and choked gasps, and long, drawn out, high-pitched moans. Finally, she made a little sobbing noise, as though she couldn’t take anymore, and there was an abrupt motion, and then she’d brought the vibrating dildo out from under the covers and dropped it next to her on the bed. It was glistening wet. She pulled the covers back up to her neck and then went limp, panting a bit with her exertion, and one hand came up to wipe at the tears still on her cheeks. She was trembling.

Vegeta backed up one step, then another. One more and he was out of sight of her room. He felt like he was learning how to walk again, and he was as shaky as if _he’d_ been the one to come screaming. 

Holy _fuck._

He took flight and returned to his room, mind completely blank except with the overriding need to _come_. Right fucking now. His cock was engorged, and it smacked against his stomach as he pushed his shorts down with one shaky hand. He thought of how _wet_ she had been as she had ridden the vibrating dildo, of how _good_ she smelled. How it would feel to sink his cock into her and know she was that wet because of _him_. How she had changed colors, little patches of pink, and then how she had clamped her hand over her mouth because she was screaming his name so loud she was afraid someone would hear—

He came, an explosive, gut-wrenching pleasure that made him cry out. Pulse by pulse, he was wrung dry, every spasm of his cock delivering with it an image of her coming—on his fingers, on his mouth, on his cock, screaming her pleasure, wet to her knees, sobbing into his shoulder, biting the pillow until he ripped it away because he _wanted_ to hear her noises, _wanted_ to hear her scream his name. He came until he felt completely hollowed out, drained of all energy, gasping and as shaky as she had been when she’d pulled the vibrating dildo out of herself. He collapsed heavily onto his bed, unable to even find the energy to go shower. He was sweating like he’d just gone fifty rounds in the gravity chamber. 

He was able to grab a water bottle off his nightstand and gulp half of it down before dropping his head back into the pillow. _What the fuck just happened._ He had never come so hard in his entire fucking life. Everything was different now. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had to have her. He _had_ to have her. He briefly thought of what he would, or could, do to win her over, to convince her to permit him access to her lush body, to persuade her to let him make her come even harder than she had around her toy tonight.

But then, right before exhaustion claimed him, Vegeta remembered her cry before clamping her hand over her mouth. “Fuck, _Vege—”_

Maybe it wouldn’t be that hard to win her over after all.


	2. Bulma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma POV

Bulma Briefs had the perfect life. She was brilliant, beautiful, and wealthy beyond belief. Her work was intellectually challenging and rewarding. She had unlimited budgets at her disposal. She had a supportive family, a loyal friend group, and a dynamic relationship with one of the biggest baseball champions in the world. A popular magazine had just published a speculative piece saying just that: the blurb on the front page had announced, “Bulma Briefs: What It’s Like to Have It All!”

Bulma had been simultaneously angry and depressed when she’d seen the magazine, and it had gotten worse when she’d read the article. She came off like a pampered princess who’d had everything in the world handed to her. The article glossed over her truly revolutionary achievements in the fields of engineering and technology, basically implying that once she’d come of age, she’d been given a cushy “creative” job at Capsule Corp by her very generous and doting father. The article had also included two paragraphs about her “tumultuous” relationship with Yamcha, being sure to mention the multiple baseball accolades he’d earned (yet not a single mention of any of the science awards _she’d_ achieved), and the fact that he could “have his pick” of any woman in the world.

“Yeah, well, he _had his pick_ all right,” she’d muttered, right before taking out her phone and making a call to the family’s publicist. Ten minutes later, after many reassurances about a forthcoming retraction and a donation from the publication to a charity of Bulma’s choosing, Bulma had ended the call and finished getting ready for the meeting scheduled with potential Capsule Corp clients.

And her day only got worse from there.

By the end of the workday, Bulma was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. The lack of respect shown her by the respective clients had only exacerbated the feelings started by the magazine that morning—that no one believed in her achievements, that she was just a hot piece of ass with a trust fund, and that she would never be taken seriously by anyone. She’d fended off mildly patronizing comments that had gradually turned into borderline sexual harassment, and only the knowledge that once the sexist fucking pricks left the building she could set events in motion that would immediately sever all ties between their company and Capsule Corp (effective now and for many years to come) had kept her from completely losing her cool and screaming at them. As it was, if she hadn’t been feeling so fragile from the magazine that morning, she probably would have done that anyway. Instead, she’d gritted her teeth and delivered some patronizing and pithy comments of her own, but they’d just chuckled at her, like it was all a big joke to them.

Now, Bulma trudged into her room, feeling a sudden, overwhelming urge to cry. She shucked her professional attire and stared at herself miserably in the mirror above her dresser. Her makeup had started to wear off, so the dark circles and puffiness under her eyes were visible again. Her lips were chapped, her forehead was flaky, and it looked like she was getting some small stress breakouts on her left cheek. She closed her eyes and took several deep, shaky breaths, then opened them again and looked at her reflection intently.

“What am I doing?” she asked herself aloud. “What am I _doing?_ This is ridiculous. I am Bulma _fucking Briefs_ , this is bullshit. _Get it the fuck together!_ ” She stood up straighter and pointed at herself in the mirror. “What the fuck do I care what people think of me? I’m a fucking genius. I’m fucking gorgeous. I can buy all those miserable fucks a billion times over. I’m done with this. _You hear me?_ ” She glared at her reflection. “Fucking _enough_ of this. Now, you’re going to go take your makeup off, and you’re going to take a hot bath and scrub and shave and read a fucking trashy romance novel, and then you’re going to put on a facial mask and sit outside because it’s fucking nice out, and then you’re going to drink a bottle of wine and go to bed and sleep until noon, because you’re _Bulma fucking Briefs_ and you can fucking do what you want.”

Bolstered by her little pep talk, Bulma went into her palace of a bathroom, started running the water in her gigantic sunken tub, and added a champagne-scented bubble bath. She took her makeup off and cleansed her face, then took her time picking out a romance novel. When she was finally submerged up to her neck in the frothy bubbles, she let out a sigh of relief. This was _exactly_ what she’d needed. 

Forty-five minutes later found her out on her balcony, reclining on a chaise lounge, wearing her anti-aging mud mask and little cucumber slices to relieve the under-eye puffiness. The sun was just starting to set, and there was a nice cool breeze blowing. Bulma was wearing her nice new organic restorative pima cotton loungewear and felt very cozy and comfortable. Her thoughts drifted back to a comment one of the dickwads had said to her at Capsule Corp: “Well, Miss Briefs, I sure hope there’s a nice young man at home who is taking care of you. You’re too pretty to work this hard!”

Bulma scowled. What the fuck did that mean, _you’re too pretty to work this hard?_ What the fuck did looks have to do with work ethic? She should’ve said to him, “Yes, as a matter of fact, there’s an attractive young genocidal alien training at my compound as we speak, and he hasn’t fully committed to destroying the entire planet in a few years.” Maybe she should tell Vegeta that he should really be taking care of her because she was _too pretty_ to work so hard.

She snorted at the thought of Vegeta’s face if she told him that. She imagined what it would be like coming home from work to Vegeta…but the thought of it wasn’t quite as ridiculous or unappealing as she’d expected. Vegeta was _hot_ , there was no denying that…and he was a lot smarter than Goku, even if he was usually a jerk… 

“Woman, _what_ is that on your face?”

Bulma shrieked and jumped, nearly falling off the chaise lounge. She pulled off the cucumber slices and glared at Vegeta, who was hovering above the balcony rail, still dressed in his training clothes. He was looking particularly muscular today, and Bulma was incredibly thankful her coloring was completely hidden under the opaque mud mask, because she was sure she was bright red at being caught by a _very_ sexy Vegeta just when she was thinking about exactly how sexy he was.

“Dammit, Vegeta, don’t sneak up on people like that!” Bulma snapped. 

Vegeta smirked, very obviously amused at her discomfiture. “It’s not my fault you aren’t aware of your surroundings,” he snickered.

Bulma huffed. “I was _trying_ to relax.” She looked down at the cucumber slices in her palm with a scowl. After the day she’d had, was it _really_ too much to ask that she just get a few hours of peace and quiet? She was quite sure that any minute now, Vegeta would begin with the ridicule, like every other person with a penis she’d ever been around when trying to perform a beauty ritual. Really, it was bullshit: men judged you for how attractive you were (or weren’t, as the case may be), but then they judged you as vain or shallow whenever they saw you doing a skincare regimen or putting makeup on. You couldn’t win.

Vegeta looked slightly puzzled. He slowly descended from where he’d been hovering above her balcony. Landing, he leaned back against her railing and crossed his arms, brow furrowed. “What does relaxing have to do with that stuff on your face?”

 _Here it fucking comes._ “It’s a facial mask, Vegeta. I may be a beautiful woman _now_ , but I’d also like to be one in thirty years, and I won’t be unless I take care of my skin.” She sighed, knowing that her enjoyable evening was about to come to an end. She flicked the cucumber slices over the railing, mentally preparing for the ridicule that was going to start pouring from his mouth any second. “And the cucumbers were to get rid of the puffiness around my eyes. It’s been a long day.”

He was watching her with a keen expression on his face. “You should know your limitations, woman,” he growled. 

Bulma rolled her eyes. Words of fucking wisdom from the alien who’d made a living destroying planets. “Easy for you to say. Anyways, it’s not me so much as… _other_ people.”

“Idiots are everywhere,” he acknowledged, which made her feel marginally better.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Bulma groused. “Half of the idiots on this planet were apparently at Capsule Corp today.” 

She was fully prepared that, if Vegeta didn’t start on her about her vanity, he would be completely dismissive of her complaints about her day. So when, instead of verbally attacking or ridiculing her, he stood up straight and came to sit down on the chaise lounge _right next to her_ , and asked her, “What were the idiots doing?” with a genuinely interested (and if it had been anyone else, she would have said _supportive_ ) expression, Bulma was beyond shocked. She felt her eyes get wide, and she couldn’t help but turn away, patting the still-hardening mask on her cheeks and thinking for the second time in as many minutes how thankful she was that the dark grey mud was hiding what she was sure was a _very_ flushed face.

The next twenty minutes or so were an incredible shock to Bulma’s system. Once she got started ranting, she couldn’t _stop_ , relieved as she was to finally be able to vent about her horrible day to someone. She described in minute detail how offensive the visitors had been and how their seemingly innocuous comments had enraged her—and Vegeta listened _._ He didn’t tell her that she was being too sensitive. He didn’t tell her that she’d taken it all the wrong way and it was clearly meant to be a compliment. He didn’t tell her that really, she should expect that type of reaction with the way she looked, and if she didn’t want the attention, she needed to tone down her appearance. He didn’t try to change the subject and start talking about himself. He didn’t say any of the dismissive things she’d heard before from Yamcha when she’d tried to vent about something. Instead, he just leaned back in his chaise and looked up at the darkening sky, occasionally making supportive “tch” noises, and he _listened_. 

At the end of her rant, he glanced at her and said, “Want me to go pay him a visit? I could throw him in the gravity chamber and turn it up to 200. He’d be a pancake.”

Bulma laughed, delighted at the mental image. As ridiculous as the threat was (although she wasn’t entirely sure Vegeta wouldn’t do just that if she asked him), it made her feel better. That was another thing Yamcha had never done: try to cheer her up. Instead, he’d always been fairly disdainful of her problems—her “rich girl problems,” she’d once heard him say. 

“Why don’t you get that _boyfriend_ of yours to take care of you?”

Bulma was taken aback. Did he think she had a new boyfriend? But then, that magazine hadn’t known she and Yamcha were no longer an item; it made sense that Vegeta didn’t know either. “Yamcha? We broke up months ago,” she said. 

She was torn between hoping Vegeta didn’t dig, and praying that he _would_ , because for some reason she wanted him to know that she didn’t put up with that kind of shit. Even so, when Vegeta asked, “Why?” Bulma found that it still hurt (both her heart and her pride) to admit it. 

“He cheated,” she said shortly, looking away because she didn’t want to see the pity on Vegeta’s face.

However, Vegeta’s reaction didn’t express pity of any kind. His triumphant laugh nearly made Bulma fall off her chaise. Shocked, she turned to stare at him, mouth gaping open as he exclaimed, “Of course he did! A weakling like him could never succeed at anything without breaking the rules. _Tch_. No honor, no pride in anything. What did he cheat at?”

Logically, Bulma knew that there was a major cultural and language divide here. Even so, she couldn’t bite back her aggravation at his cavalier reaction. “He cheated on _me,_ you jerk!” she snapped, and watched Vegeta’s brow furrow in puzzlement.

“How can you cheat on a…” he trailed off, and Bulma recognized the moment he figured it out. “He…do you mean he was _unfaithful?!_ ” The horror that suffused his face temporarily placated her—really, he looked beyond horror, like this was the absolute worst thing that had ever happened in the history of the universe.

“Yes, that’s what _cheating_ means, Vegeta.”

“But…you were his mate!”

Bulma shrugged. “I guess you can call it that. He was my boyfriend.” 

She turned her head to see that Vegeta was staring at her intently with a very serious expression on his face she’d never seen before. “On my planet,” he said slowly, “unfaithfulness to a mate was a very grave offense. The offender would be shunned by society for losing his honor.” His words seemed to hold a sort of gravity, as though he was trying to communicate to her that maybe _she_ didn’t even understand how bad it was. She squirmed a bit, uncomfortable with the idea that he would pity her after everything that had happened.

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” she snapped. 

Vegeta nodded approvingly. “Women on my planet were the same. They did not look for pity. Only vengeance. Their friends and family would help them enact it.”

Bulma snorted, even though she’d secretly harbored a few fantasies of burning all of Yamcha’s stuff and destroying his car. “Vengeance? He’s not worth any more effort from me or any of my friends.”

“No, but you’re worth it.”

Bulma froze as soon as the words left his lips. Wait—did he just…give her a compliment? It was undoubtedly the nicest thing he’d ever said to her; fuck, it was the nicest thing _anyone_ had said to her in months. And this was after he’d sat beside her for a good half-hour and listened to her rant about what a shitty day she’d had, without interjecting one word about himself. Bulma found that for a moment she was overwhelmed with emotion. She didn’t want to freak Vegeta out with bursting into tears, so she bit her lip and used the pinprick of pain to get herself under control. “Thanks, Vegeta,” she whispered, turning her head lest he see the tears that had swam into her eyes. She needed a minute to get a grip, and the bathroom was the perfect place to do it.

She stood up and said over her shoulder, “I’m going to go wash this off. I’ll be right back. Want a water?”

“Sure. I’ll go shower.”

Bulma heard him take off from the balcony as she went back inside to her bathroom. As she rinsed the mask off and proceeded with the rest of her skincare routine, her mind replayed the conversation over and over. Who would’ve known that it was possible to have such an interaction—such a _connection_ —with Vegeta, of all people?

As Bulma layered the serums and creams and oils over her face and neck, she suddenly remembered the dream she’d had about Vegeta. It had been maybe six or seven months ago. She’d still been with Yamcha, and she’d been unable to keep from mentioning it to him, _especially_ the part about Vegeta being a good kisser. Yamcha had gotten fired up from jealousy, which had sort of been the point…but Bulma hadn’t been completely honest, because in the dream, they’d done a lot more than kiss. She still vividly remembered it, and waking up from it, breathless and warm and tingling…and she had looked at Vegeta a bit differently ever since.

Bulma took her skincare routine very seriously, so she didn’t skip any steps, but she _did_ rush the process a bit, then grabbed two bottles of water before heading back out to the balcony. To her surprise, an obviously freshly showered Vegeta was already landing, even though it had been less than five minutes since he’d flown off. 

“Wow, Vegeta, that was quick!” she exclaimed, handing him the water bottle, and trying desperately not to stare at his still-damp hair and picture him standing under a showerhead, water cascading down his taut musculature. 

He was carrying a small box, which he suddenly thrust towards her, catching her off guard. “This is yours. It was in my room with some stuff I ordered. Your mother must have put it there by mistake.”

“Aw, thanks,” she said, taking the package and looking at it curiously. She was expecting a couple deliveries, but she was sure they’d be coming in much bigger boxes than this one. Maybe the orders had been split up and they’d be delivered separately? It wasn’t her Sephora order, or her Nordstrom order, and the box felt like there was only one thing inside and—OH HOLY SHIT IT WAS THE SEX TOY.

Bulma just knew her face was lighting up, and this time there was no opaque mud mask to hide the color. Vegeta had just carried a box with her _sex toy_ across the Capsule Corp complex and handed it to her like it was _nothing_ —thank all the gods that there was no way he could possibly know what was inside. All thoughts of spending the rest of the evening sitting with Vegeta on her balcony went immediately out the window. She had the illogical urge to get away from him, lest he question her about the package: “ _What’s in the box? Why don’t you open it, Bulma?”_ No, that couldn’t happen. Bulma was pretty confident about most things but she didn’t think she could live that down.

“Haha, thanks, Vegeta, I’m just going to put this in my room now, I’ll see you later!” Bulma said quickly, giving a half laugh over her shoulder as she _quickly_ retreated to her bedroom. When she got there, she glanced back again, and saw that he had gone. She breathed a shaky sigh of relief. It was over.

Bulma had never really been one for sex toys. She had this little thing, one of the toys called a “personal massager” that you could buy literally anywhere, maybe the size of a screwdriver handle. It took a single AA battery, and it didn’t really have options—you could turn it on, and you could turn it off. She’d had it for years, and she’d _used_ it, but not like every day. To be honest, she hadn’t even used it every week, or every month, and the reason was that Yamcha had hated it. Frankly, Yamcha had been weird about anything to do with sex. He _liked_ sex, and he liked _having_ sex, but he was a little prudish about _talking_ about sex or experimenting. 

They’d lost their virginity to each other, but back then, when they’d first started dating, Yamcha had, frankly, been terrified of women. Initially, he’d been very resistant to even talking to other women, and one time after he’d gotten drunk he’d told Bulma it was because he thought it was disloyal to her, and he didn’t think it was appropriate of him to be around any women other than her. Bulma had thought this ridiculous and had told him so. And for a little while, there had been no issues…Yamcha had maintained his stance, and their love life seemed okay.

But then, Bulma had started catching Yamcha talking to other women. She’d been furious, mainly because Yamcha himself had told her he viewed it as inappropriate and disloyal. They would fight, then make up, then fight again, then make up, in a never-ending cycle of drama. Bulma had hated feeling like the psychotic jealous girlfriend, but she could never quite get over the thought that something was going on. And then he’d started playing baseball and had gotten famous, and the girls started chasing him constantly. On the one hand, Bulma had felt that it was horrible of her to resent Yamcha losing his fear of women, because his life would obviously be much easier—but on the other, it was like the fame had gotten to his head, because he stopped saying that he thought it was disloyal. “I’m a star, Bulma, what do you expect?” he’d exclaim, usually with a giggling girlish sycophant next to him. But then, when he’d died, all the hard feelings had gone away. She’d looked forward to reviving him, and they could put all the petty bullshit behind them. 

Except that when he’d come back, he was worse. It was like dying had given him this view that life was too short for being faithful. The tables had turned, and he’d started being jealous of any other guys around Bulma—he’d even made a comment about Goku once, and Bulma had been furious. And he’d been livid that Vegeta was living at Capsule Corp. Their sex life had begun to wane, and then Yamcha had found her little vibrator in her nightstand and freaked. He’d viewed it as an attack on his manhood—she should _only_ be getting it from him, he’d said angrily, and had compared masturbation to cheating. Never mind the fact that he never much seemed to care anymore if Bulma enjoyed herself during sex—he was all about what felt best for him. Sex for Bulma had started to feel like a chore. It was all missionary, all the time, zero foreplay, and never took more than five minutes.

And then she’d walked in on him at his apartment when he was in bed with another girl. _Not_ doing missionary. Sex toys _all over_ the bed. Handcuffs dangling off the headboard. Fucking _porn_ playing on the TV. She’d turned right around and left, in a deep state of shock, while Yamcha rushed after her, holding a pillow over his crotch, apologizing, _begging_ her not to leave. Her state of shock had carried her home, at which time the fury had taken over, and when Yamcha had shown up thirty minutes later, showered and dressed with a bouquet of flowers and looking sheepish, like they’d had a minor disagreement instead of her walking in on him railing a girl from behind while she called him _daddy_ , Bulma had been happy to throw a toolbox at his head while chasing him off.

Bulma had been at risk of developing some sort of complex about sex toys from the whole thing, but she’d been lying in bed one night a month or so back, browsing the internet on her tablet, and she’d seen a link for a website about female sexuality. There had been articles and videos and how-to guides, all about creating a better sexual relationship with _yourself_ , not someone else. They had talked about techniques and mindsets, and there had been a mention of a new sex toy launching from a female-run company, and how revolutionary it was because it was designed _by_ women _for_ women. Determined not to let Yamcha ruin any more of her life, Bulma had subscribed to the website and preordered the sex toy. 

And Vegeta had just hand-delivered it to her.

Bulma opened the box and set the vibrating dildo up to charge. The instructions said it would take about 90 minutes to be fully charged, so she stripped down (Bulma always slept naked) and got in bed, content to continue reading her novel while she waited. She wanted to create a different mindset for masturbation—she usually did it to porn, as quickly as possible (and as mindlessly as possible), but the website had recommended looking at it with almost a wellness approach. It didn’t have to mean mood lighting and jazz, but you should take the time to _enjoy_ it. For the first time in her life, Bulma wanted to try masturbating while fantasizing. Maybe the romance novel would give her some ideas.

She tried her best to immerse herself in the novel, especially when she got to the next sex scene, but it failed to capture her imagination. She found herself glancing at the clock frequently, waiting for the toy to charge, and then she would have to reread the previous paragraphs over and over again. Maybe the sex scene was a little… _tame_. She wasn’t sure she was really looking for flowery language and euphemisms. She wanted something a bit more _daring._ A bit _dirtier_.

Ah, fuck it. Bulma slammed the book down on the comforter and scowled. What she _wanted_ was for someone to absolutely take her apart. She wanted someone who wanted to make her lose control, who wanted her to come over and over again. She wanted someone who wasn’t afraid to manhandle her, who wasn’t afraid she would break into pieces, who wasn’t afraid to snarl the filthiest things imaginable into her ear while pounding her into the mattress. She wanted someone to make her scream and shake and sob and _beg_ for it. She wanted to be left a weak, quivering _mess_. And it was almost unbearable to realize she had never experienced anything even close to that—and maybe never would.

Yet again, Bulma remembered the dream she’d had about Vegeta—the dream she’d never fully told anyone about. The part of the dream prior to the physical stuff was blurry at best, but she _did_ vividly recall that they had been in a room that she was pretty sure was supposed to be her lab, and he’d unceremoniously shoved her against a wall and cupped her face in his hands and then _devoured_ her mouth with his. She’d ended up a whimpering mess, clinging to him and following his mouth with hers every time he made to pull away from her. She remembered the heat that had infused her body, and the thrumming that had begun between her legs and flared out. At some point his thigh had ended up between hers and she had shamelessly rubbed herself against him, crying out unreservedly against his mouth, until he had pulled away and turned her around, so she was pressed against the wall with him firmly behind her. And somehow, in the way so many dreams seemed to go, they’d apparently both been naked, at least from the waist down, and he’d parted her legs, and she’d felt him, so hard against her, and then he’d started _thrusting_ against her. Not _into_ her—no, they hadn’t actually had intercourse in her dream. He’d just parted her labia and inserted himself between, and then started thrusting himself against her, over and over, rubbing against her clit with every movement. 

She remembered pressing her cheek into the wall and enjoying the sensation very much, but the first thought that crossed her mind was, _I should fake an orgasm_. She could probably psychoanalyze that all day long—that being with an inconsiderate lover had made her self-conscious about being perceived as frigid, or something along those lines—but no sooner had the thought crossed her mind than Vegeta growled into her neck, “Don’t even think about it, Woman.” He’d pinned her even more harshly then, and started grinding against her in even heavier, more intent thrusts. She’d whimpered as her clit rode the ridge of his enormous erection, and she’d begun to claw at the wall until he’d taken both her hands in his own and moved them to just over her head.

She’d realized that she might actually be able to come from this, which was shocking because she rarely ever came during sexual encounters anymore, and she’d focused on the heat that was building where he was fucking against her. “Don’t stop!” she’d gasped, beginning to shake. “Please don’t stop!”

“I’m not stopping until you give it up for me, Woman,” he’d rasped against her neck, and the heat had turned sharp, radiating outwards, and she’d cried out against the wall, and—

She’d woken up. She’d been dazed and disoriented, struggling to reconcile where she was with where she’d been seconds before, not sure if she’d had an orgasm or not, and above all, unable to get the thought of Vegeta out of her head.

 _That_ was the kind of sexual encounter Bulma needed. 

Another glance at the clock showed that it had been 90 minutes. Bulma hopped out of bed and grabbed the vibrating dildo from where it had been charging on her desk. As she climbed back in bed, she experimented with the various buttons on the device. One controlled the little ears at the top for clitoral stimulation, and another controlled the shaft of the device. The settings ranged between five different intensities, and then lots of pre-programmed settings that involved changing power levels and tempos. Bulma made herself comfortable under her covers, enjoying the breeze blowing in through the open balcony doors; for a moment, she debated whether or not she should close them, but she didn’t really want to get back out of bed—and really, what did she have to worry about? The security at the Capsule Corp compound was second to none, her parents would never come into her room via the balcony, and Vegeta would have been in bed hours ago.

Vegeta. Bulma bit her lip as she turned the vibrating dildo on the lowest setting and moved it beneath the covers. Just imagine—what if Vegeta _did_ land on her balcony while she was doing this? What would he do? Maybe this was a good place to start with her fantasy. She jumped as she brought the toy against herself; even at its lowest setting, it was still way more powerful than the little “personal massager” she’d used in the past. She let herself get used to the sensation, then slowly started moving the shaft against herself, back and forth.

She imagined Vegeta standing there on the balcony, watching her move the toy against herself. Maybe he’d lean against the open door, arms crossed, the same stance he’d taken when he’d landed on her balcony earlier. He’d watch her for a moment, and then, unable to help himself, he’d ask, “Woman, _what_ are you doing?”

She’d jump, maybe babble a bit, embarrassed at being caught, but he would stand up straight and stride over to the side of her bed, where he would stare at her, gaze slowly sweeping down her body to where the buzzing was coming from beneath the covers. Then he’d look back at her face and smirk. “Such a vulgar woman.” She would begin to turn it off and pull it away from her, but then he would raise an eyebrow at her and ask, “Did I tell you to stop?”

Bulma rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. _Holy shit_ , she thought, _that is so fucking hot_. She never would have expected that she could imagine something like this, just in the moment, and have it turn out so arousing. It was working, she might actually be able to do this!

She would tentatively move the vibrating dildo back to where she’d had it, flush against herself, and he would continue staring down at her, smirk still in place. “That’s better,” he would say, somewhat gloating. “You should always obey your Prince.”

 _Holy fuck_. She turned the vibrator up to the next level.

“I had no idea you needed it this bad,” he would continue. “Did merely being in my presence earlier get you so worked up you had to come in here to get yourself off? Tch, what a needy little thing you are. If I’d have known, I certainly would have done something to relieve your _struggle_. I can be a very benevolent ruler.”

Bulma turned the vibrator up again and huffed out a shaky breath. Kami, this was way more intense than she’d expected. She was still trying to get used to the power of the toy, and she was only just getting to the point where she could stand to have it all the way against her clit. Even then, she was having to slowly slide the length of the toy up and down her slit, getting herself wet enough for what the toy was _really_ meant for. She shifted and felt the covers move down a bit, but she didn’t care. She wanted _more_.

“Well, Woman, what are you waiting for?” he would suddenly demand, eyebrows raised. “Are you going to fuck yourself or not? You’re plenty wet for me. Put it in.”

 _Oh Kami_. Bulma bit her lip and started to slowly work the toy inside herself. It had been quite some time since she’d had sex, and as the toy was bigger than Yamcha, this was officially the largest thing she’d ever had inside herself. With shallow thrusts, she managed to fit it all, and then she angled it the way she was supposed to—handle tilted down so that the head would rub against her g-spot, and flush against her so that the little rabbit ears could fit around her clit. She exhaled sharply as everything made contact, and she couldn’t help the little twitches and jerks that her body made at the _very_ new sensations. 

Vegeta would still be standing there, watching her do this. She twisted her head away from where he would be standing, eyes squeezed closed, but no, he would say, “Eyes on me, Woman. If you’re going to fuck yourself while you think about me, you’re going to look at me while you’re doing it.” She turned her head back and looked up to where he would be standing. 

She’d unconsciously been holding her whole body rigid, still not entirely sure how to best take advantage of the toy. It was almost overwhelming, like there were too many points of contact and she wasn’t fully comfortable with any of them. She forced herself to relax into it, forced herself to concentrate on just _feeling_.

“There you go,” he would say. “But I bet you can do better than that. Turn it up.”

Bulma did. And _holy shit_ it was a lot. She moaned aloud as she simultaneously felt a white-hot, pinpoint-precise sensation right on her clit, and a deeper, more intense feeling on her g-spot that radiated outwards through her entire abdomen. She couldn’t keep quiet then, little keening sounds continuing to pour from her mouth. She began rocking into the toy, riding it, frantic for more.

“Look at you,” Vegeta would say, voice lower. “Look how desperate you are. You just can’t help it, can you? So _needy_.”

Bulma turned it up again, but instead of just going higher, it turned into one of the programs—two short bursts and then a long burst, and Bulma was _shocked_ at how much it affected her. It was like her body kept having to adjust to the sensation, like it was a constant surprise, and everything felt _sharper_.

“Ah, fuck!” she gasped, and couldn’t hold any part of her body still anymore. She was writhing against the toy now, head tossing back and forth, both feet now flat on the mattress so she could press against it harder and push it in _deeper_.

“You’re going to come, Woman,” Vegeta would growl. “You’re going to come while you fuck your tight little cunt and think about me. Are you going to scream, Bulma?”

“O-oh Kami,” she cried. She _was_ going to come, it was happening faster than she’d expected, and _oh Kami_ it was too much, she couldn’t take it, she hadn’t known it would be like _this_ —

“ _Scream_ for me, Bulma.” 

Oh fuck, she _was_ going to scream, she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t _stop_ —

“Oh Kami, _fuck_ , y-yes— _ah—_ fuck, _Vege—_ ” and Bulma arched off the bed, _hard_ , and clamped a hand over her mouth just in time because she was wailing at the top of her lungs and couldn’t stop. Her entire body shook and jerked while her entire world imploded. She hadn’t known, she hadn’t known it could be like _this_ , this all-consuming supernova that was ten times, a _hundred_ times more intense than the best orgasm she’d ever had before. And oh Kami, it wasn’t _stopping_ , it was still going, she was going to die from it—

She couldn’t take anymore, so with a sob, she pulled the toy out of herself. Tremors continued to wrack her body as she pulled the covers back up to her chin, and shaking hands discovered that her entire face was wet with tears. She stayed there, trembling, her entire world changed. She hadn’t _known_. She hadn’t known that her body was capable of so _much_. And not just her body, but her _mind_ ; she had always mindlessly masturbated to porn and erotica, sure that her overactive scientist mind would be incapable of creating a fantasy in the moment, and just _look_. She’d had the best orgasm of her life thinking about Vegeta—not fucking her, not even _touching_ her, but _t_ _alking_ to her.

Bulma took several deep breaths, trying to quell the shaking, but her mind was still on Vegeta. She’d honestly had no _clue_ she was that attracted to him. She thought about the dream, and the time she’d spent with him on her balcony. Kami knew he was hot as shit, but she hadn’t known what it was like to spend _time_ with him. He’d _listened_ to her, and had (in his own way) been supportive and encouraging, and made her feel deserving of respect. 

Thoughtful, Bulma got up to go to the bathroom and wash her toy off. She wasn’t sure how much sexual experience Vegeta had, if any, but she knew she _wanted_ him. She wanted to just be around him, to be in his powerful presence, but also to have him _inside_ of her—and something told her that what she wanted in a sexual experience was _very_ possible with Vegeta. 

As she climbed back into bed and turned off her lamp, she began to think of ways to try to catch his interest. But just before she drifted off, she remembered what he had said on the balcony that evening. “No, but you’re worth it.”

Maybe it wouldn’t be that hard to win him over after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And done! I'm honestly super proud of this. It didn't turn out how I expected when I initially sat down to write it, but I like how it ended up. I think I am going to leave this at two chapters because I think it makes more sense that way; HOWEVER, I am planning on writing a sequel of sorts that would lead us up to the actual sex. I think I'm going to turn it all into a series, so keep an eye out for part 2. 
> 
> I also think I’m going to try my hand at a Gochi story that I already have the outline for in my head. I’d also like to try a Gohan x Videl one because I think they are just the cutest couple but you KNOW they’re kinky af behind closed doors.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of this update, and I hope everyone is happy and healthy during these unprecedented times!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank y'all very much for reading. I hope everyone is staying safe and sane right now--it's a very scary time for all of us, and I've had my share of stress adjusting to everything. I'm a manager for one of the biggest department stores in the U.S. and we've all been furloughed until probably at least June, maybe later. I live in NY state so we're on lockdown, meaning I haven't left my house in like 3 weeks. I'm going back to school (online, of course) to finish my B.S. in History but that doesn't start until May, so I've got a few weeks. God knows there's nothing else to do but housework and playing Dragon Age and Elder Scrolls Online. Let me know how you guys are doing through all of this!


End file.
